


Like calls to like

by hydrangea



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2606396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/pseuds/hydrangea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short snippet from a future that might've been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like calls to like

"Watson!"

Joan stirred, vaguely.

"Watson!"

Something jabbed her in the back. Fine. "What do you want?"

"We've got a case."

"A case of what? We're under house arrest, remember?"

She could practically feel the gaze he leveled at her. "That doesn’t prevent us from having a case, Watson. Now, I'll give you three minutes--two minutes less, I might note, because you won't be leaving the house and therefore won't need to shower or change your clothing--though I would recommend that you bring something warm as I know that you consider the roof rather cold this time of a year--even though I can't imagine why as the average temperature is--"

"I'm up, you can stop jabbering now." The very nice cashmere cardigan she'd received last year was already on the chair she usually threw her clothing on. She wondered briefly how he'd gotten it--she'd sent it to be cleaned last week.

"Good! Up we go!"

The guy that Bell had put on their door was gone. A half-empty takeaway cup, still hot enough to have condensation on the sides, indicated it'd been a recent event. 

"Did I sleep through the sirens?" she asked, trudging behind Sherlock up the stairs to the roof.

"Indeed." 

Well, at least that explained why he kept looking back over his shoulder. "I'm quite fine, you know. It's been years since I fell the last time."

"Studies indicate that relapses can happen when the subject is under a lot of stress, which I might point out--"

"Studies also indicate that once the hormone levels have returned to their base line, they're unlikely to decrease again. Sherlock, what are we doing?" He'd been right about the temperature on the roof. It was freezing--far more so than she had expected-- Shit, she was doing it again.

Sherlock caught her eye. "If you've finished catching up to my earlier observations, I would like to point your attention to the street below."

She'd been right about something happening then. Pulling the cardigan snug around her, she padded over to the edge. Sherlock didn't follow, but a few moments later a blanket appeared on her shoulders. "Thank you," she said absently.

It was a mess below. Lestrade and Bell were leading what looked like half the local precinct as they cleaned up what seemed to be a minor gang war--the amount of weapons spread across the pavement could've armed a smaller militia. She couldn't see if they had the tattoos of the gang she and Sherlock had hunted for the past week, but she did catch a glimpse of the purple hair one of the men sported. The loud yelling about the British bastard and the bitch certainly helped in identifying them.

"Someone called in a tip early this morning. It seems that a man with a certain tic had asked to rent a room down the street."

"It would be faster to just call Lestrade or Bell, you know. I'm sure they'd appreciate it as well."

"I like to keep them on their toes--now, do you see that man with the truly heinous haircut?"

The man had just been shoved into a car -- and not too gently -- by Lestrade. "You mean the-- Oh, he's the one, the--"

"The one that attempted to kill you, yes."

She sighed and turned around. "He didn't manage, Sherlock. And I can take care of myself."

Sherlock's hands were so deeply shoved into his pockets it was a wonder he hadn't pierced the fabric itself. "You were lucky--if the cut had been only--"

"Sherlock. I'm fine." His expression didn't change. "Look, here--" She outlined the stitches in her scalp, winced a little when she hit a sore spot. "Even if he had hit me in the wrong spot, I could've easily used something temporary until the ambulance arrived. I'm fine, Sherlock, and I still would've been fine if you hadn't arrived in time to distract him."

His hand stopped her hair from falling back into place as she let her fingers drop; he traced the same line as she had the moment before. He didn't forget, she knew, that she'd been a surgeon once, but for all that he had more general knowledge than anyone else of her acquaintance, he wasn't educated in medicine. 

His fingers reached the end of the stitches, but instead of dropping, they traced the line of her jaw, so lightly that it almost tickled. 

For a moment, they just stood like that -- his fingertips against her skin, their eyes meeting -- then he took a step back. "I will remember not to underestimate you."

"That would be good." She took another look down at the street; the police intervention was almost over. "Well, I'm going back to bed."

"Our house arrest is over. Wouldn't you like to go out?"

"Later. When I've had some sleep."

"Have I ever told you how much time you lose throughout your life to sleeping? It's a truly horrendous percentage--"

The door cut him off as it slammed behind her. Joan yawned and waited. A moment later, the door opened.

"Watson?"

"Yes?"

"May I sleep with you?"

She held out her hand. "Of course you can."

His hands were warm as their fingers entwined. They usually were.


End file.
